I Don't Remember What We're Fighting For
by REMUS IS DODGY
Summary: Takes place right after Memento Mori. Mulder helps CSM in trade for a cure to Scully's cancer. As Scully recovers and tries to persue a relationship with Mulder, Mulder is drug deeper into a twisted plan of murder and betrayal...
1. Default Chapter

**Authors Note:** This is a long, extensive piece I have been working on. It takes place like...in the middle of/after Memento Mori. Though I have tried to do research as to make this as accurate to the show and the true meaning of the characters, please forgive any and all mistakes that I make, and remember that I have changed things to suit my story. I hope you all enjoy! Please R&R!  
  
**Another note:** Though I have dreamed, obsessed and maybe even hurt myself over it, I do not own the X-files, Mulder, Scully, CSM, or anything else in this story. In fact...I may not even be the one writing this...who knows? It's probably Chris Carter using mind control to use my talent to write what he thought really should have happened...or it's just the chocolate talking...

_Scully's aqua eyes twinkled as she grasped Mulder's hand in hers. Her cherry lips formed a smile and she began to speak,  
  
"Fox..."  
  
Suddenly the emotion in her eyes changed. A look of complete terror flickered across her pale face and she cried out as she began to fall...  
_  
**X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X  
**  
"Scully!"  
  
Fox Mulder jerked awake, sitting straight up in his bed. Breathing heavily, he wiped away tears mingles with sweat. It was a warm summer's night and his curtains fluttered in a lavender-kissed breeze. Letting the silence of his lonely apartment envelope him, Mulder tried to calm his racing heart and spinning head. He glanced over at his alarm clock. 6:58 AM. There was no way he could get back to sleep now.  
  
After a quick shower and breakfast set for one, Mulder sat in his car. It was still too early to go into work, and Mulder had no errands to run. Sighing, he started the car and pulled away from the curb.  
  
Mulder didn't really know where he was going to go. He just figured his heart would take him somewhere to settle his raging emotions. So he was pretty surprised when he found himself pulling into St. Mark's Medical Center parking lot.  
  
Turning into a 3-hour stall, Mulder shut off the engine and leaned his forehead against the cool leather of the steering wheel. He knew that he shouldn't be there, that Scully had asked him no to visit. But Mulder knew his sub-consciousness had lead him here for a reason, so he figured he'd better go in and find out.  
  
Footsteps echoing in the sterile, white hallways, Mulder wandered the familiar path towards Scully's hospital room. As he neared it, his heart began to beat a little faster, afraid that he would find Scully had not made it through the night. A blonde nurse in purple scrubs walked out of her room and he stopped her, hoping that she would know something.  
  
"Excuse me; do you know anything about Dana Scully's condition?"  
  
The nurse shuffled through the stack of clipboards she was carrying. Glancing at several charts, she smiled gently, "She's doing great."  
  
Mulder let out a sigh of relief and nodded, "Is it okay if I go in to see her?" he asked softly.  
  
"I'm afraid Ms. Scully is in early morning therapy right now. But if you come back at about 9:30, she should be done."  
  
"Oh. Hm. Ok, thank you." Mulder turned and moped back towards his car.  
  
The drive to the J. Edgar Hoover building seemed to pass in no time and Mulder found himself sitting alone in his office, in the basement. He sat in his chair, feet on the desk and staring at the ceiling. Never before had Mulder not had something to work on. The first few nights Scully had been in the hospital, Mulder didn't leave her bedside. Instead he had files brought there to finish. Since he couldn't seem to sleep while Scully was suffering, he managed to finish all the cases they had been working on in 2 nights. So now he passed the long hours in the quiet office playing mind-numbing games and sleeping. Luckily no one often visited him, so he hadn't been loaded down by other agents, eager to have their work be done by a less busy co-worker.  
  
Sighing, Mulder sat upright and opened his desk drawer. Pulling out a box of unsharpened pencils, he carefully sharpened them one by one and lined them up on the edge of his desk. When the last pencil was sharp, he held them in his fist and tipped back as far as his rickety chair would allow him. Aiming carefully, Mulder flipped a sharpened pencil into the dusty, pegboard ceiling with a 'thunk'. Soon there was an intricate design formed from pencils on the low ceiling of Mulder's office.  
  
The long hours passed slowly and Mulder gratefully dragged himself out of his office at 4:30 pm. As he crossed the lobby, he was stopped, much against his liking, by Assistant Director Skinner.  
  
"Yes, Sir?" Mulder asked, rather impatiently. Skinner looked at Mulder disappointedly.  
  
"You can't let Scully's sickness drag you down, Mulder." He examined Mulder's face, "Have you even slept for the past two weeks? You look like hell."  
  
Mulder sighed, openly irritated.  
  
"I need you to do something for me. Hopefully it will keep your mind off Scully." Skinner handed Mulder a thick stack of folders, "I need you to read these and write me a profile on the suspect. I will need it by 8:00 pm." Skinner gave Mulder one last sympathetic look and walked away.  
  
Rolling his eyes and mumbling curses to everyone from J. Edgar Hoover to the girl at the receptionist's desk, Mulder made his way back down to the gloomy basement.  
  
Throwing the files down on his desk in disgust, Mulder slumped dejectedly back into his chair. After several seconds of angered silence, he finally flipped open the first file and began to read.  
  
Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours. The tiny basement office was filled with the sound of turning pages and pen scratching on paper. Mulder had to admit, it was relaxing to be working again. For the first time in the past 2 weeks, he wasn't worrying about Scully. His mind was filled with ideas and theories about the murder suspect these files talked about. He became entirely engulfed in trying to figure out a profile that would fit this man and his signature killings.  
  
Skinner stood in the doorway of Mulder's office several hours later, watching him work. He felt bad for the young agent. Skinner knew Mulder was being torn apart inside by Scully's disease and wished he could give him some comfort. But no one really knew what would happen with Scully. Sighing inaudibly, Skinner entered Mulder's office.  
  
Mulder glanced up quickly, startled by Skinner's quiet entrance. He looked back to the paper he had been working on and continued to scribble down writing.  
  
"I'm almost done, sir," he said, finishing up his thoughts. Sighing, Mulder threw his pen down and leaned back in his chair, looking at Skinner. Skinner nodded and sat down in the chair Scully usually vacated. A few seconds of silence passed as Skinner examined Mulder's tired face.  
  
"So how are you really holding up, Mulder? You doing okay?" he asked, sincerely concerned.  
  
"I'm fine..." Mulder mumbled, avoiding Skinner's light brown eyes.  
  
"I know that Scully's sickness is really worrying you, but you have to have faith in her. She wouldn't want you to be so torn up about it."  
  
"Don't..." Mulder started, bringing his intense gaze to rest on Skinner's startled face.  
  
"Don't...what? Agent Mulder?'  
  
"Don't...act like you know Scully. Don't sit there in her chair and pretend you care about how I or she feels. Don't try to convince me of ...your lies." Mulder stood up and flung the profile he had just written at Skinner, "Don't make me believe in a hope that isn't there." Grabbing his coat, Mulder stormed out of the office, leaving a very puzzled Skinner in his wake. 


	2. Are You Willing To Give Up This Fight?

The streetlamps reflected orange on the wet blacktop. It had rained while Mulder was in the office. As Mulder trudged over to his car, he noticed a recently lit cigarette on the pavement. He jerked his head up, searching for the lank figure he had become familiar with. Seeing no one, he cautiously unlocked his door and got in. There, pinned on the dark leather of the steering wheel, was a folded slip of paper. Unpinning it, Mulder read it with shaking hands:  
  
_Washington Memorial 9:00 pm  
Come Alone_.  
  
Mulder crumpled the paper in a ball and threw it angrily against the windshield. It bounced back and hit him in the face, which only angered Mulder more. He jerked his coat sleeve back and glared at his watch. 8:55 pm.  
  
Mulder walked across the dark grass, drops of water glistening on his shoes. Silhouetted against the bright cityscape was a man casually waiting. As Mulder neared, he saw the orange burn of a cigarette. He stayed silent for a moment after reaching him before speaking:  
  
"What do you want, you smoking son of a bitch?"  
  
"I have a deal..." CGB Spender's raspy voice responded.  
  
"And what sick deal is it now?"  
  
"Scully, you'd do anything for her, am I correct?" He took a deep inhale of his cigarette and blew the strong smoke into Mulder's face.  
  
Mulder flinched, "Of course I would. I would give my life for her."  
  
At CSM's twisted smile, Mulder immediately regretted telling him that.  
  
"Then you might be interested in what I have to say. I'm getting old and unable to do some of the...things...that I used to. I need a man, a man capable of the services I need..." As Mulder opened his mouth to object, CSM raised a yellowed hand to silence him. "I am a fair business man. I do have a trade to make..." He reached into his gray trench coat and pulled out a small vial of dark red liquid. The glass glinted in the moonlight as CSM tipped it back and forth.  
  
"What is that?" asked Mulder skeptically.  
  
"This is the remedy to Agent Scully's tribulation. I am willing to exchange this for certain, assigned services."  
  
"How do I know I can trust you?" Mulder questioned, trying not to eye the glass vial hungrily.  
  
CSM chuckled and shook the vial slightly in front of Mulder, "Have I ever steered you wrong?"  
  
Mulder deliberated the situation before him. He would do anyone and anything to save Scully, but did he really want to help the one man who was helping tear them apart?  
  
Making a grab for CSM's wrinkled hand, Mulder took the vial and held the cool tube in his palm. "What do I have to do?" he asked gruffly.  
  
CSM grinned twistedly and pulled out another slip of paper, handing it to Mulder. "After you have administered the potion to Scully and said your goodbyes, meet me here. And no FBI or I'll make sure Scully meets the end of that long tunnel..." He walked away briskly and quickly disappeared into the shadows.  
  
Mulder stared at the small vial in his hand, until it struck him was CSM had said. He gazed frantically around the park, looking for where CSM had gone, but saw nothing.  
  
"My goodbyes?!" he screamed to the shadows. "I will not leave Scully alone with this!"  
  
Mulder didn't expect a response, so he strode back across the lawn and locked himself in his car. He unclenched his fist and examined, once again, the small vial in his palm. The dark red liquid seemed to glow in the moonlight reflecting through the windshield. Mulder squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears from escaping. He would not crack now. When Scully first got sick, he vowed that he would find a way to make her better and this vial he held now could be that way. He carefully wrapped it in a soft, white handkerchief from his pocket and tucked it into his pocket. 


	3. Can't stop to feel myself losing control

As he walked through the echoing hospital halls, Mulder glanced at his watch. Almost 10:00 pm. He hoped that he would be allowed to see Scully.  
  
The hospital room door was ajar and Mulder silently pushed it open. Scully's frail figure was curled up in the stark white bed, her back turned towards the door. As Mulder grew closer, he could hear Scully's deep, rasping breathing. His hand reached out to touch her, to wake her, but hesitated when he noticed the journal. The dark, leather-bound notebook was lying open on Scully's bedside table and Mulder could clearly see his name written at the top of a filled page. It was decorated neatly in cursive with hearts, much like a third-grader would decorate the coveted name of a first crush.  
  
Deeply curious, Mulder picked up the journal and read:  
  
_Mulder –  
  
Even as I write this, I tremble at the thought that this could be goodbye. These long, painful hours in this bed have inspired me to write the thoughts that crowd my weary mind. If I shall pass on, I would like you to think of this as a tribute to your sweet inspiration.  
  
As the earth turns, it produces day and night. As it orbits the sun, the earth produces seasons. And as it pulls the moon along, it causes tides. These endless cycles of light and dark, hot and cold, and wet and dry produce a rhythm, a planetary beat. It is this earthly pulse that has set the internal clocks of every living creature and produced our human sense of time. Basic to our rhythm is the ebb and flow of our personal biological clocks. As the chemotherapy weakens my mind and might, I can feel the throbbing tick of this clock. It fills my mind and engulfs my senses. Some days it is so overpowering, it takes all the strength I have to ignore it. I do fear that the end is near, Mulder. I can feel it like a sliver that I can't seem to get rid of, one that digs deep into the skin and consumes all attention. And when you come to the end of everything you know, and the next step is into the depths of darkness of the great unknown, you must believe one of two things: Either you will step out onto firm ground or you will be taught to fly.  
  
I had the most peculiar dream the other night. I dreamt that I had died and was floating above my bed, looking down at my lifeless body. The room was dark and no one was around. I remember thinking that it wasn't my time to go, and this is what was keeping me suspended in that room. It was like when I was alive, I believed - as you do - that time was at least as real and solid as myself, and probably more so. I said "one o'clock" as though I could see it, and "Monday" as if I could find it on the map. Like everyone else I lived in a house bricked up with seconds and minutes and New Year's Days, and I never went outside because there was no other door. Now I know that I could have walked through the walls. I realized that time didn't matter and that, in the end, it was what we made of the time we were given, not what we had spent our time on. Every human being is a part of this time. Only when I grew to love you did I understand the relativity of time; then, I wished to embrace you forever, hoping that eternity would last just a few minutes more.  
  
Mulder, I need you to know. I need you to know about all the times I have wanted to touch you, to embrace you. All the times you have lifted my spirits and sent me soaring. All the times I have needed your strength and your light. All the times I have been too afraid to say "I Love You". I know now, as I am faced with the dark future of death, that life really is too precious to not act upon feelings. I apologize for never telling you this before. But I will tell you now. I love you. I love you, Fox Mulder, and I will forever. You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read. You have been in every prospect I have ever seen - on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea in the streets. You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest buildings are made are not more real, or more impossible to be displaced by your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be. To the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil. But in this separation, I associate you only with the good, and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for you must have done me far more good than harm.  
  
In all our years together I have found that you have given me so much advice and knowledge. I would now like to share with you some things I have learned in my solitary hours here; things that I have realized mean more than who is right or who is wrong...  
  
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble, it's a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.  
_  
Mulder stopped reading. He shakily put the journal back down on the table, his mind spinning with the words he had just read. Walking around to the other side of the bed, Mulder took a seat in the stiff chair that was there. Gently slipping his hand into Scully's, Mulder gazed at her. Her usually well-kept hair was mused and dark rings surrounded her eyes. Her ashen cheeks seemed shallow and Mulder could see where her hair was starting to thin from the chemo. Despite all these, Mulder could not think of a more beautiful woman. Tears silently streamed down his face as he watched his partner sleep and he sobbed quietly, sliding down to kneel in front of Scully, softly placing his lips against her hand.  
  
The minutes passed and so did Mulder's tears. He resumed his position in the chair, content to just sit and watch Scully sleep. He could not stand to see her in so much pain and relished these quite moments that she slept, knowing that she was someone where there was no pain, no cancer. Soon Mulder's eyes fell shut and he too snoozed in a land of no pain, only love.  
  
**XXXXXX  
**  
**Author's Note:** Sorry it took so long to update on this story. I've been quite busy lately and haven't had much time to just sit and write. And to "give credit where credit is due", the whole thing about the planetary beat and producing time and all that was actually taken from my end-of-level test I took back in May. While taking the test I was like "OO! This is like something Scully would say!" So I copied down and put it in here. And also the thing from her dream about thinking about time and realizing about walking through walls, that is actually from The Skull, The Last Unicorn. Some more quotes inside there are from Anthony Constantino, Claire Norris, and Charles Dickens So...yea...I think that is all. Please review! It makes me feel good and inspires me to keep writing!!! 


	4. I Don't Know How To Let You Go

Mulder sat up with a slight groan, rubbing his neck. Soft early morning sunlight was streaming through the blinds, giving the room a soft glow. Scully was lying with her eyes open, watching him silently, her eyes looking startlingly blue compared to her pale skin. Mulder smiled gently, reaching over to take her frail hand.

"Hey there, beautiful. Sleep alright?" Mulder kissed Scully's hand softly.

"I feel like someone dropped a load of bricks on my head," Scully replied in a raspy voice. She smiled weakly and brought her hand up to stroke Mulder's cheek. "What are you doing here?"

Handing Scully a glass of water, Mulder sighed, "Well I came here to see how you were doing last night and must have fell asleep." Mulder decided not to tell her about his meeting with CSM or what they had agreed to do. Sitting back down, Mulder fingered the small vial in his pocket. "How's your chemo going?"

"Not good. The doctors say that, though it has shown some signs of normal success, the cancer is not getting any weaker." Scully sighed quietly. "They might stop chemo, Mulder. I'm not getting better..." A small sob escaped from Scully's frail body, and she buried her face into her hands. "I don't want to die, Mulder."

Gathering Scully into his arms, Mulder rocked her gently. She cried quietly for a few minutes, before looking up at Mulder with red eyes. Getting lost in her deep azure eyes, Mulder leaned forward, placing a delicate kiss on Scully's lips. She sighed and returned the kiss, bringing her hand up to cup Mulder's cheek. Pulling away, Mulder wiped the tears away from her cheeks with his thumbs, smiling shyly at her. Scully brushed a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead and leaned in for another kiss.

With a squeak, the door swung open, interrupting the intimate moment the two agents were sharing. Margaret Scully stood in the doorway, stern look on her face. Mulder quietly stood and placed a gentle kiss on Scully's cheek. She smiled weakly and gripped his hand for a moment. As he passed Mrs. Scully in the doorway, he gave her a small smile. She gave him a harsh look in return before shutting the hospital door in his face. Shaking his head, Mulder gripped the vial in his hand. He would come back tonight and do it. He would save Scully's life and condemn his.

**X**

****

Scully wasn't listening to what her mother was saying. She was staring silently at the end of her last journal entry, at the scribbled words that were now there, in Mulder's handwriting. A single tear fell from Scully's eye as she read:

There will never come a day,  
You will never hear me say,  
That I want,  
Or need to be without you;  
I want to give my all.  
  
Baby just hold me,  
Simply control me  
Because your arms,  
They keep away the lonely,  
When I look into your eyes,  
Then I realize,  
All I need is you in my life,  
All I need is you in my life,  
  
Cause I never felt this way about loving,  
No, never felt so good,  
Baby never felt this way about love,  
And it feels so good. 

**XXXXXX**

**Author's Note: **I've had major writer's block lately, so I apologize for the extensive amounts of time it is taking me to update this, and for the shortness of it. I am hoping to get some more added on this weekend and perhaps next week. Regarding Scully's mother being so cold towards Mulder, that is my own little addition. In Memento Mori I always get the impression that she sort of feels that it is Mulder's fault for her daughter's sickness. And to me, it just seems like she wouldn't approve of Scully and Mulder's relationship. Hate it if you will, but that is just the way I interpreted things. As for the beautiful poem Mulder wrote, it is Alicia Key's "Never Felt This Way". Such a beautiful song...


End file.
